


Dualscar: wwin at life.

by Laylah



Series: Imperial Pop Star [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Clone Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Narcissism, Pop Star AU, Vvanity, shameless porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You drape an arm over each of them. "Howw about a little sugar for your Admiral, boys?"</p><p>They fight over who's going to kiss you first. It's the cutest fucking thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dualscar: wwin at life.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cephalopod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephalopod/gifts).



The stage lights are hot as the Empress's tits and you're panting for breath as you come to the end of the last dance routine, sweating like a blueblood. The crowd roars approval, great crashing waves of sound; you hold up a hand and give them a big, flourishing fuck-off salute. "Thank you," you growl into your headset mic, "and good day!"

The whole stadium goes dark, and you break your pose. There are people waiting for you the second you get off-stage, handlers ready to strip off the formal cape, offer you a towel, press a fresh bottle of water into your hand. You take one drink and upend the rest over your head, groaning in relief at the chill of it. Behind you, your boys are getting similar treatment.

You've made it all the way through the Fight for Lovve tour, _finally_ , and you're staking a claim on a solid season's worth of vacation before you go back into the studio for the next album. Next time you're going to pick a theme that involves wearing less clothing. You look fucking fabulous in dress uniforms, yeah, but the lights make it such a killer.

You and your boys shoulder your way into the dressing room and shut the rest of the world out. "Fuckin fintastic," you tell them, and they grin back at you with two mouths full of teeth just as sharp as your own. They're your backup in more ways than one, two vat-grown duplicates of you that the company paid for once they decided you had the looks and the talent to make it as a star. The boys are younger than you, smaller, expanding the market appeal of your entire act.

And, not coincidentally, giving you regular chances to reflect on what a damned handsome bastard you are.

"Yeah, we're pretty swank," Cronus agrees, swaggering over to you. "Still love the uniform thing."

Eridan's not to be outdone—none of you like being bested—so he's rubbing up against your other side. "It's a fuckin' classy look," he says. He's newer than Cronus by a couple sweeps, barely old enough to be out on tour, and you love how he shows off your competitive streak.

You drape an arm over each of them. "How about a little sugar for your Admiral, boys?"

They fight over who's going to kiss you first. It's the cutest fucking thing. You get each of them by one crooked horn so they won't get too rough with each other and take turns, sucking on Cronus's lip, licking your way into Eridan's mouth. Performing always gets you at least a little wet, but listening to your boys moan really gets you going, bulge swelling in your stiff uniform trousers and your nook starting to drip. Cronus grinds against you and Eridan drops a hand to give you a good squeeze.

Another beautiful thing about playing with your boys: you all know exactly how you like it.

You trace the back sides of their fins with your claws, gentle as can be. Cronus clings to you like he's going weak in the knees. Eridan whimpers, mouth falling open and soft. You could fuck a mouth like that all day.

You take two steps backward to the big suede couch you insisted on having in here, and drop down onto it in a lazy, pleased sprawl. Your boys look so hungry when they watch you. "Down on your knees an come over here," you tell them. Anyone else they'd spit on, curse out, but you're the original and they adore you. As they should.

So they make it a show, crawling over to you with these nearly-matching hungry looks on their faces, Cronus just a tiny bit more angular, Eridan just that shade more wiggler-faced. Their own lieutenants' uniforms do great things for their shoulders, even when they're on their hands and knees.

"Polish my boots, boys," you say. They lean down in tandem, violet tongues tracing the shiny black leather. You unbutton your trousers all the way down to the seam, curling one hand lazily around your bulge and using the other to tease your slit. You watch them: they way they look up at you, eyes ringed with kohl, the way they squirm, like they're just as hot for it as you are. "My boys," you purr. "So fuckin' gorgeous."

One of them hums in satisfaction at that, precious vain little bastard. You watch them for another minute, toying idly with your bulge and your nook, because they make great eye candy. But you're not really here to play with yourself, not when you have such appealing, easy options.

You rock your hips up, spread your legs a little wider, give them a smile that shows off all your fangs. "Come here, loves," you say. "Let me have those sweet mouths."

"Yes, Admiral," Eridan says with a flirty wink. Cronus thinks the uniforms are hot, and he's right, but you think Eridan's got more of a thing for the rank and discipline stuff. Maybe you should do a video with a law enforcement theme sometime, get his sweet little glutes in a prison guard's uniform and have him booking Cronus into a holding cell, maybe roughing him up a little.

Fuck, you need to stop thinking about work. "There's a darlin'," you say, carding your fingers through Eridan's hair as he runs his tongue up your nook. Cronus laps at the head of your bulge, taking the tip between his pouty lips. You rest a hand on his nape to let him know you'll push if he doesn't take the initiative himself.

You never have to push. He swallows you down like he was fucking made for it, throat working around you. He whines a little but he doesn't fight, maybe because Eridan's pressing his tongue up into your nook and crooning hungrily. Neither one of them wants to let the other one do you better.

The end result of which, of course, is that you get the best fucking head in existence. You watch them fondly, letting their lips and tongue do fucking beautiful things between your legs, moaning for them so they know how good they are. Your boys, your precious, perfect boys.

Some days you could let this go for ages, get high and have them trade up sucking you off and eating you out until you're a boneless wreck all the way through. But not when you've just done a show and you've had an hour and a half of audience adoration for foreplay. You need to come, and they need it, too; you can tell by the sweet whining note in the noises they make against your flesh. You let go, pulled under by Cronus's throat and Eridan's tongue, climax crashing through you in thundering, blissful waves.

You've ruined the couch, but that's what it's there for. You let go of your boys and they pull back, looking up at you with their lips swollen and your genetic material streaked violet down their chins. "Tell me how good it was," Cronus says.

"You were both fuckin' brilliant," you say. You pet their hair, stroke their delicate fins. "Loveliest boys I could hope for." They preen a little. You know how good that feels, being told what you need to hear. "Why don't you fuck each other for me?"

Cronus smirks at Eridan. Eridan raises a challenging eyebrow at Cronus. Then they're diving at each other, ripping uniforms, licking your come off each other's faces. Beautiful.

Being you is the best fucking deal there is.

**Author's Note:**

> This was only ever meant to be a short little porn ficlet, a frivolous thing to entertain myself. But then Roach happened to it, and, well. The series starts to explode once you click for part two.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Art of Past Life Regression: A Step-by-Step Guide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1986291) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




End file.
